When a Map Becomes Unimportant
by Slytherin Buttercat
Summary: The importance of a map slowly degrades over time, until it is nothing more than a memory...


**Quidditch League: Write in the POV of the Marauder's Map**

 **Extra Prompts:**

 **10\. (emotion) paranoia**

 **13\. (song) 'Animals' by Neon Trees**

 **15\. (dialogue) "Do you want to smell my candle?"**

 **Word Count: 1357**

 **Thanks to beta('s): Ann, Nasim, Ever, Lizzie**

 **A/N: Thoughts in italics?**

 **A/N 2: I honestly don't understand words this week. This was hard to write…**

* * *

 **When a Map Becomes Unimportant**

* * *

I start with the Original Four— _my Original Four, my Marauders_ —when they place their magic in me and use me to study a Snape, before I am stolen away and placed somewhere I don't know by the hands of a man I never see.

Then come the pair of redheads— _my kind of people—_ who use me for several years before passing me on to a messy-haired boy— _my messy-haired boy._ Then one of the Original Four briefly comes in contact with me— _that was my Moony. Oh, how I had missed my Moony…_

Afterwards, I am handed back to the messy-haired boy, until I am put into storage, only to be handed to a blue-haired boy years later— _that was_ my _blue-haired boy, look at how much he has grown_. This blue-haired boy handed me to yet another messy-haired boy after a few years— _my baby had had its own babies... oh, how my baby had grown_ —and that messy-haired boy shared the Map with his two siblings. _My grandbabies all together. I could hardly contain my excitement, especially when the blue-haired boy joined them. Those moments were like chocolate, sweet but never lasting long enough for me to be content._

I have been in use for generations now.

Currently, I am wide open on a table, weighted down at the corners as my people look over me. I almost shiver in anticipation as I feel my young people's excitement.

They are planning a prank on someone, that is certain. The way one of the fingers traces the path I have displayed to them is a big indication of that. They are clearly tracking their path, making sure everything is right for their plan—making sure they know where everything is. I can remember those days well enough with the Original Four.

If I could jump with the happiness I am feeling, I would. It is at times like these when I am the happiest. I feel included. Most of the time, I am just shoved into a robe pocket along with some quills and ink (which, unfortunately, has a tendency to leak all over me). I am crumpled due to misuse, and multiple ink stains lay around the edges of my parchment; but somewhere, deep down, I know they never meant for this to happen to me— _I hope they never meant for this._

I have changed over the years of my existence. I have grown from the piece of parchment I used to be. I can now comprehend emotion behind the words I hear, and sometimes I can even _feel_. I know that I can feel what I feel, and hear what I hear, because of the magic racing through my parchment, allowing me to think when I shouldn't be able to.

I also know a lot about whoever has me in their possession at a certain time. For example, Lily's— _my grandbaby Lily_ —favourite subject is Potions, and Albus'— _my Albus, so much like his father and his father's father_ —favourite candle scent is apple, and James— _named after one of my Original Four_ —has a strange infatuation with the Malfoy. He always looks at the Malfoy when he has me, and always sighs when he finds the dot with Rose Weasley. A part of me thinks James is jealous, but another part of me thinks he is angry. I don't understand. I understand that they are planning a prank on these dots, but that's all.

Lily's hair is dangling over my parchment, Albus is ranting to James about someone—the Malfoy boy, most likely—and James is humming in agreement. I can only make out some words, like "ferret" and "my cousin." The rest of the words I either don't hear or don't understand, and they are probably the most important of them all.

Lily's huff of annoyance is loud enough for any magical object within close proximity to hear. "Shut up, Albus, no one cares about how annoyed you are at your little boyfriend."

"Not my boyfriend," Albus mutters back.

"Go smell one of your scented candles or something, you're bloody obsessed with them," Lily snaps. "It might calm you down."

I can almost feel Albus thinking up a smart retort. "Do _you_ want to smell my candle?" he asks. "It might soothe you. Merlin knows that girls on their 'monthlies' need them."

I have no idea what a 'monthlies' is, but apparently Lily does, as a loud smacking sound is heard. Albus groans.

"Are any of you ready?" James asks. "Rose and Scorpius will only be there for around half-an-hour, after all."

There is something underlying in his voice, something that only an inanimate object which has been in use for several decades can detect. I watch as the dots labelled Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy get closer together.

I hear the sound of a small flame being lit. "Seriously?" Lily asks Albus. "You have to light that candle now?"

"Only because it matches your hair so much, Sister Dearest," Albus retorts with hardly a pause. "I wouldn't want you to feel left out."

I am not sure when their relationship turned this sour. The last time I saw them, nearly two years ago, back when Lily was a second year, they liked each other.

"I've got everything," James says. "Let's go give them the biggest surprise they've had in a long time."

He stands up—at least, that's what the scraping of his chair tells me. Albus and Lily follow him. The candle is left flickering on the desk beside me.

The words that send me into my usual sleep are not said, which has only happened once in the entirety of my existence. Why would they just leave me open? It is careless…

Maybe they forgot that I existed? That seems likely, as they only looked at me to find where Scorpius Malfoy is. But James uses me all the time; he can't just forget about me…

The candle flickers on.

I watch Lily, James and Albus walk down corridor after corridor, watch them go down flights of stairs. They have walked from the Gryffindor common room all the way down to the dungeons, where two dots blend together in a way I can't understand.

The flame feels closer now, but this cannot be right. The candle is far away from me, after all. A candle is an inanimate object; it cannot move on its own.

Then the burning pain starts. A new emotion—paranoia—races through me. I have never felt anything like this before. I'm afraid I won't get out alive, but can I even die? I'm just an object. A magical object, yes, but an object nonetheless...

But the edges of my parchment are crumbling away, and I am burning, burning…

* * *

 _Say goodbye to my heart tonight…_

* * *

James enters his room alone later that night, and is startled when he finds a pile of ashes on his table.

That is, until he remembers the candle Albus left, and he is cursing at the air for the trouble he is going to get in for destroying one of the only things his father had from his grandfather.

"Why didn't the Marauders make the map fireproof?" James asks himself.

He is just glad that everything else in his room is fireproof.

* * *

 **A step into the past:**

"Shall we make the map fireproof?" Remus asks whilst they plan.

"When is the map ever going to be faced with fire?" Peter replies with his own question.

"It just seems practical, that's all. What if someone chucks it into the fire, or one of us leaves a candle unattended? All of our hard work would be destroyed."

James rolls his eyes, a tired gleam within them. "Another thing you think we should add?" James' voice sounds tired. "This is the fiftieth what-if suggestion you've added."

"Yeah, Remus. The map's done. Let's just do to bed, okay?"

"Will it hurt to add one?" Remus says quietly, but they are no longer listening to him.

(He would have added one himself, but by the time he _could_ do the charm, he had forgotten that the Map didn't have one.)

(Besides, how was he to know that a future generation would burn the Map?)

* * *

 **Meh…**

 **~Buttercat**


End file.
